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Danimal Presents... Phallic Food Friday

It's Friday Fun Day! What better way to enjoy the day than reading a graphic depiction of a man's stent being removed from his urethra.
My good friend Biff Kensington III was kind enough to chronicle his adventure in stent removal to be shared with you all EXCLUSIVELY here at Ranstylvania! After reading Biff's tale, stick around for some brand new review I've written of a vaguely phallic shaped food. TGIF!!!

The Violation of Biff’s Dick: A Medical Journey

The human body is truly a miraculous thing. It does in a matter of weeks what it takes nature thousands of years to do: make rocks. That you turn around and try to pee out.

(For those of you who challenge the scientific accuracy of calling kidney stones ‘true rocks’, I would respond to kiss my ass. Obviously you’ve never had one of these little fuckers making through your urinary tract like a little demonic cheese grater. It’s a fucking rock.)

I was approached earlier today by my good friend over at the Blog of Doom, Danimal to chronicle my experiences in having a ureteral stent removed this afternoon. Unfortunately, pictures were not permitted in the office due to legal reasons, which also explains why no specific names of the office location or my doctor are present here—thanks litigious society!—but a good running blow-by-blow of the action was OK with everyone.

Those that frequent Scott’s Blog of Doom for any length of time have heard me share some horror stories. For the uninitiated, kidney stones have been a constant companion of yours truly since late-May 2014; every day since, the little fuckers have tortured me in some way, shape or form. On this particular occasion, the stent being removed was placed just four days before Christmas by my new urologist, who is far more caring than the old one. Having a stent placed is a lot like having a brick constantly dropped on your groin; it completely disrupts the normal flow ‘down there’ and generally makes you feel miserable at the best of times. Urinating is a novel experience, unless you normally piss out razor blades every ninety minutes.

And then, after a few weeks, your body starts to adjust… and they take it out.

Stent removal, while not quite as laborious as the placement (which is done under general anesthesia in an OR), features its own unique treasures. The typical method is to use a special scope that passes up into your urethra and into the bladder, where a special grabber is used to take hold of the stent and pull it out. To help minimize the discomfort, patients are advised to take VALIUM beforehand, so that the needle they stick inside the head of your penis full of lidocaine helps take the edge off the pain. It doesn’t work, but at least it’s something.

Pictured: The joyous little tool that goes up your tool.

This was the procedure I got to enjoy the first time I had surgery. For this stent removal, my urologist elected to use the ‘alternative’ method, whereby a string is attached to the end of the stent, and run out through the tip of your penis and taped to your leg or pelvis. The urologist then pulls on the string and removes the stent through your penis without the need for that pesky pain medicine or numbing agent. Though it reduces the time it takes to get it out, it increases the pain felt in your groin considerably; sex was nigh-impossible while the string was there, and urinating felt like a swift kick to the testicles every single time.

Despite not really looking forward to going through this procedure, I knew that leaving the stent in for another week would begin pushing the limits of my tolerance for the bastard, so I scheduled the dreaded appointment. My good friend Michael, opposite of me in almost every respect volunteered to go with me, more to provide moral support than anything else. He quickly found a good way to pass the time in the waiting room by freaking out a 66-year old codger by sitting down right next to her, despite there being open chairs all over the place. I guess the sight of a 6’5”, 250 lb. guy with hair down to his lower back and a faded Ratt t-shirt on has that effect on old people.

The following is the actual running account of my experience today, with handwritten notes directly detailing the experience as it happened.

2:31 PM EST — We are coming to you live from the scene of the crime-to-be here in beautiful, mild Uptown Charlotte. Apparently the building where my urologist’s office is located is having some elevator troubles: when the digital readout said ‘8th Floor’, we exited thinking, hey, it’s the eighth floor. Instead, it put us out on the fifth floor. Or perhaps the elevator is sentient and took pity on me, who knows.

2:45 PM EST — It’s always fun when two people with the same name find themselves getting called to the back, and yet neither one wants to go. Apparently the poor fellow across the room from me was also in to have his penis accosted. I win the proverbial lottery this time around and get to set back down; he marches towards the nurse (and his doom). The 86-year old dinosaur gives me a look: fuck you too, grandma.

2:46 PM EST — Did you know: apparently, it is against the rules in this particular health care system to stock magazines from after 2011 in the waiting rooms? I’ve been to three different clinics run by this healthcare system, and the best I’ve ever seen in the magazine rack was an issue of Field and Stream from October 2011.

2:49 PM EST — Doomsday has arrived in the form of a twenty-something nurse with a five o’clock shadow and flowery scrubs. My friend, ever the optimist, shouts encouragement behind me as loud as he can: “I hope your penis makes it through okay!”

(Whether the 150-year old fart gave him a look, I’ll never know).

2:53 PM EST — Apparently, the nurse assisting today decides that I need exercise, and has me climb up onto an x-ray table that is apparently designed for giants. After doing a pull up to get my ass up onto the seven-foot high table, the nurse is quickly informed by her co-worker that no x-rays are needed for a stent removal. He smirks and apologizes; I flip him off behind his back.

2:59 PM EST — The urine sample is on its way to wherever it is that urine samples go. Apparently there are lab workers here that do nothing but collect urine samples all day. Golden shower aficionados must consider this Nirvana.

3:10 PM EST — On some level, all urologists are sadists; they know that, nine times out of ten, the people in the office are going to have their special places violated at some point during the visit, and so they make you wait for a while to really sit and stew on it. I’ve heard my urologist’s voice three times passing by my door talking with a nurse. I’m in the only patient room in the hall.

3:14 PM EST — My favorite eight words of the week: “Well, let’s have a look at your penis.” I inquire if it’s okay to write out notes while he does his thing, to which he shrugs: “It’ll probably help take your mind off of it.”

3:15 PM EST — If you’ve never been through this procedure, you can’t really appreciate what it feels like. Imagine if the inside of your penis is attached to a string, a string colloquially known as ‘the stupid piece of shit’. Having yarn coming out of the head of your penis is about as pleasant as it sounds, which is to say ‘not at all’. Questions come to mind as the doctor begins to take hold of it; does the string leave rug burn inside the head? What would the doctor have thought about himself twenty years before if he knew he’d one day spend his time pulling strings out of dicks? Do men with small dicks suffer less than those with large?

3:16 PM EST — Fuck.

3:17 PM EST — FUCK.

3:18 PM EST — Alright… okay…

3:19 PM EST — The urologist is quite pleased: “I only got a few drops of urine on the floor today! I’m having a good day!” Somehow, this doesn’t improve my disposition.

3:20 PM EST — Well, that was mildly unpleasant. If you’ve ever seen a hot dog left in the microwave for too long, that’s about what my dick feels like right now: flayed from the tip down. Suddenly, the idea of getting a shot of lidocaine in the tip of my dick doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

3:22 PM EST — My dick hasn’t hurt this bad since I was fourteen, and learned how to masturbate for the first time. That’s pretty bad considering I’ve shot multiple rocks out of it, and not the fun, sex-related kind either. When you have no pain medicine to ease the discomfort beforehand, nor any numbing agent, it feels as though the tube and your urethra are one in the same, and thus the doctor is pulling your penis inside-out. Also, for scientific purposes, FUCK.

3:25 PM EST — The nurse was kind enough to bring a can of Coca-Cola for me, along with a sucker because, and I quote verbatim, “That was a chore and a half to get it out of that one!” I’m not sure whether I should hug her or cry. I think it was a compliment. It’s hard to know for sure when your dick feels like it should be laying on the floor in pieces.

3:32 PM EST —  And we’re finally out the door; my friend meets me at the door heading out into the corridor towards the elevators, rubbing my shoulders as if I were Rocky Balboa preparing to go to war with Clubber Lang. I feel more like Joe Czak.

3:44 PM EST — The elevators decided to fuck with us again by putting us out on the wrong floor. They also decided to shake as though the cables were going to snap, sending my friend and I plummeting to our deaths. We decided to ponder the implications of dying in an elevator all the way back to the parking deck.


After that, the ability to focus and write out notes coherently was pretty much lost. It took me another hour and a half before I made it back to my house, thanks to some tomfoolery involving a wrong turn that got us hopelessly lost in Charlotte. Or maybe it just felt like an hour and a half; stent removal isn’t typically that painful of a process for me, but this time absolutely slayed me. I had gone more than twenty-four hours without eating or drinking anything beforehand, so the sensation of being without energy didn’t help I’m sure. When your dick feels as though it’s been sawn from the inside, every bump in the road feels like a gunshot.

The moral of the story I guess is to do everything in your power not to have to have something shoved up your dickhole in the first place, since what goes up must eventually come down. Percocet and Flowmax is a hell of a combination, especially if you like severe nausea, and even then you’re lucky if the pain medicine takes away the feeling in your groin where it hurts the worst. Some people are unfortunate enough to have ureteral spasms upon stent removal (also known as the same kind of pain kidney stones cause), but several hours on I’ve yet to reach that level yet. Nonetheless, I could not in good conscience recommend the experience.

If you value your dick, take care of your kidneys. You’ll thank me one day.

Wow, Thanks a lot for that Biff. It was a wonderful insight into your world. After reading that I'm sure you're in the mood for some egg rolls!!! Check out my full review of

PAGODAS Frozen Egg Rolls

I originally planned to write reviews of other vaguely phallic foods such as generic Hot Pockets and Cinnamon Churros, but in the end life got it in the way and I wasn't able to get to them. I could have just not mentioned it and gone on with life, but I feel you readers deserve to know the truth. Maybe I'll get to them the next time I decide to have a Phallic Food Friday, maybe there will never be another Phallic Food Friday. It's hard to say. You never know what the future holds! 

Enjoy the weekend everyone and STAY SAFE!